Blood Is Thicker
by Wolfy1515
Summary: To the rest of the world, Jessie is just a regular teenaged girl despite her dark interests. However, she harbors a very dark secret: Jessica "Jessie" Hendricks is the daughter and apprentice of the infamous Captain Howdy. Terrible summary. Takes place during and after the events of the film.


**So I was watching Dee Snider's _Strangeland_ (which is actually a good movie, don't let the critics fool you), and I started to feel a little inspired. I was saddened by the small amount of _Strangeland_ fanfiction. It really deserves more love. Anyway, this idea came to me after watching the movie. When boredom and inspiration hit, this is what happens. If my readers like this, then I'll keep writing it. If not, oh well. Okay, I'm done rambling now. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Strangeland_ or any of the characters from the movie, nor do I own _The Exorcist_. I only borrowed Captain Howdy and I will give him back to Dee Snider when I'm done. I only own Jessica "Jessie" Hendricks and any other OCs.**

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"All things truly wicked start from an innocence." Ernest Hemingway

_Helverton, Colorado. September 13, 1998._

Jessie lifted her pencil and tilted her head to the side as she looked down at the sketchpad in her lap. A drawing of a hissing serpent with a feathery mane and feathered wings stared back at her. It was nearly complete. Jessie's hazel eyes studied the drawing closely, hunting for the smallest mistakes and imperfections. She erased a few bits and corrected them, then began shading the serpent's head.

The sky outside was pitch black, and small raindrops fell against the living room windows. Jessie repositioned herself on the couch, leaning back on the armrest with her sketchpad propped up on her knees. The lamp on the end table provided enough light for her to see what she was doing. The TV was on, tuned in to a channel that was showing_ The Exorcist_, but Jessie wasn't really watching the movie; it provided background noise more than anything.

Over the sound of the TV, she could hear the loud rock music rising from the basement; the heavy bass made the floorboards vibrate. Jessie tapped her pencil on her sketchpad in time with the music, ignoring her drawing for a moment while she let her mind wander. She loved rock just as much as her dad, and he always had in playing when he was down in the basement. Not only was it good music, but it also concealed any peculiar noises.

He'd been down in the basement for several hours; it was something he did most nights. Jessie knew good and well what her dad did in the basement. He was always perfecting his skills, his methods, his art. That was something Jessie always admired him for. What her father did required a steady hand and a focused mind. The slightest slip of the hand could be disastrous, and anything could go wrong if the mind was allowed to wander away.

She flipped through the pages of her sketchpad and located one of her earlier drawings. It depicted a teenage girl - no older than Jessie herself - bound to a wooden post, her wrists tied together high above her head. Black rope was wound tightly around her naked body, and her lips were stitched shut. Jessie chewed gently on black ring piercing the right side of her bottom lip, smiling a little as she looked at the drawing. It was one of many she'd done. Of course, she could always use a camera to capture the youth's rites of passage, but it felt more appropriate to take the time to carefully and methodically record the moments with pen and paper. It was one way to make such moments immortal. She hadn't gotten around to coloring it yet; once she did, it would be perfect.

Jessie continued to flip through the sketchpad. The pages were filled with more drawings of teenagers bound with ropes and wires and trapped in strange devices, all with their mouths sewn shut. Each had been painstakingly illustrated by hand, and Jessie enjoyed looking through them, recalling each and every individual and their rites. Even if they didn't pass their rites, they would forever be preserved in ink within the pages of Jessie's sketchpad.

The girl closed her sketchpad and let her head rest against the arm of the couch. The music in the basement made the floorboards quiver, sending small vibrations through the furniture. She got up and turned the TV off, clutching her sketchpad to her chest. She padded quietly out of the living room and down the hall. The music gradually grew louder when she drew closer to the door that led down into the basement. She didn't hesitate to turn the knob and pull the door open. She descended the stairs as she'd done many times, stepping into the secret room built in the basement. The room had maroon carpet, and the walls were painted red, covered in swathes of cloth the same color. Candles of all sizes on the floor and tables lit the room, giving it a warm glow. The atmosphere was primal and cave-like, but Jessie thought it homey.

Five teenagers were held within the room, three boys and two girls. All five were restrained in some way, and all five had their lips sewn shut. They had all been stripped naked, the most vulnerable state of any human being. Marks from needles and various other tools decorated their bodies. There wasn't a drop of blood on them; that had been cleaned up. Each had been hooked up to a simple device that fit around the groin, with a little tube that drained into plastic dishes by their feet. People had a tendency to piss themselves when under a high amount of stress, and her father had taken that into account.

The teens looked in Jessie's direction when she entered the room. She always acknowledged the way they looked at her like frightened, trapped animals, silently pleading for release. There weren't enough initiations for the young to endure in the modern world, as her father often said. Without such rites of passage, people retained child-like minds. They never _truly_ grew up, and they never achieved a higher level of spiritual and sensual awareness. They didn't realize how lucky they were. She knew only their names and the names they used when talking to strangers online. She didn't care to learn anything else about them. All that mattered were the experiences and sensations they were exposed to with her father's help.

Jessie ignored the pained moans and groans of the initiates. Their whining would do no good, and their screams would remain silenced so long as the stitches held fast. She saw her father standing in front of one of the girls - the one bound with ropes that Jessie had sketched - and the candlelight caught his many piercings and illuminated his tattoos and scars. There was no one else who looked like her father. His hair was fiery red and hung over his shoulder blades. The right side of his body was covered in bold black tribal tattoos that begun on his face and disappeared below the hem of his black leather pants. Scars in the form of angled lines covered his left arm and leg. His face was adorned with many piercings - his nose, his lip, his eyebrow, his ear. He didn't have a shirt on, exposing more piercings on his torso.

Her father, Carleton Hendricks; better known as "Captain Howdy" when hunting in internet chat rooms.

The girl was struggling against her bindings in a vain attempt at escape, but she paused briefly and looked over at Jessie. Hendricks followed her gaze and his brown eyes met his daughter's equally brown ones. He gave her a small smile, letting her catch a glimpse of teeth filed to points. "Need something, Jessie?"

Jessie shook her head. Her gaze fell on the needle in his gloved hand for a brief moment before returning to him. "No," she replied. She sat down crossed-legged on the floor, making sure to give him enough space. "I just wanted to watch."

Hendricks turned his attention back to the bound teenager. "Remember all that you see," he said to Jessie. "It won't be long before you're old enough to help others on their path toward spiritual awakening."

"I will, Dad."

Jessie watched closely as the needle pierced the flesh of the girl's left breast. She moaned loudly and writhed in pain, struggling to get away from the needle. A few drops of blood escaped from the wound, but nothing more. This continued as more needles were inserted into various parts of her body.

Jessie laid her sketchpad in her lap but didn't open it. She chose instead to watch her father's work. One hand unconsciously went into her dark-colored sweatpants to lightly finger the raised scars on her right hip, arranged in a tribal pattern. This pattern was repeated on her left hip as well. She'd screamed bloody murder when the scalpel first cut into her skin. She remembered her father's husky voice telling her to hold still, reminding her that the pain was meant to be endured and that it was essential to her spiritual grounding. He had to hold her down during the first few cuts to keep her from squirming. She recalled how the wounds had bled, how the metallic scent had assaulted her nose, and how she'd cried so bitterly at first. But after such intense pain, something in her mind clicked. The pain was registered, but instead she felt an odd sense of pleasure. It was a strange yet… _enlightening_ experience. After that, she remained perfectly still and quiet while her father finished the scarification and then cleaned the wounds to prevent any kind of infection.

Jessie had been fifteen at the time of her rite, and the other hip had been done the following year on her sixteenth birthday. Now she was seventeen, and the wounds had healed, but the experience could never be forgotten. She remembered it fondly. Perhaps this girl who was crying and moaning now would have the same happen to her. If she did, then she would have to look back on it just as fondly as Jessie did. After all, pain could easily be turned into pleasure if one opened up their mind to it.

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Love it? Hate it? Should I write more? Let me know. :)


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